A recent photo, which prompted the poem that follows. I wish all of you, my Gentle, Loyal, and Constant Readers, enough. . .
The phoenix rises,
dispersing ash as she extends
her reborn wings to dry beneath the sun.
She lifts her eyes,
pondering the expanse of sky, marveling
at each cloud, discerning from their shapes
her once and future soul, each
moving forward, shape-shifting
as they are propelled, like wayward children,
toward the horizon.
She rediscovers her power to fly,
in mimicking the movement
of the strange and familiar,
those wind-swept creatures
that capture her gaze,
and leave no wake, yet
cast their shadows on the earth below.
With a burst of clarity, she knows
that she is but a cloud herself,
some shadow of her former life
transformed, reshaped, assembled,
and gathered again and again, reborn to fly
above herself and beyond,
chasing the distant horizon
leaving nothing in her wake
but the weightless and gray
remnant ashes of yesterday.